Summary: In
which Vincent learns that you are responsible for the things you pick
up, and in which Cloud tells someone to stop angsting. Kweh.

A/N: This was
supposed to be a drabble, but it refused to be contained by that.
This is after DoC, but it might not be fully compliant. I'm not sure,
since I have no idea how DoC ends other than what wiki tells me. This
is my first time writing Vincent, so. I tried? XD;

Prompt: Cid
and-or Vincent --"baby chocobos"

Vincent had no idea why
the allemagnes had seen fit to attack him as well as the
chocobos they had obviously been hunting, but he did know it was a
very bad idea.

Really. Had they just
stuck with the chocobos, he wouldn't have had to waste his
ammunition.

They had made short
work of the chocobos, but the allemagnes had the sense enough to fly
away when he had started shooting, one escaping with a fairly large
piece of chocobo in its mouth. It was odd, though--normally, chocobos
could pretty much outrun anything, even in the forest. Especially in
the forest, come to think of it. And allemagnes weren't really that
smart--while they would attack in groups as well as singly, they
weren't exactly pack hunters, to plan a hunt.

It was quite odd, but
not really his concern. He put his guns away and started to walk
away, and heard a strange little "Peeeeeeeeeep!"
sound behind him. He turned, and realized quickly why the two
chocobos hadn't run away--they had been defending their nest. The
allemagnes had lucked out, coming across two chocobos and a hatching
egg. While the baby had been struggling out of its egg, its parents
had been fighting off the allemagnes, unable to run away.

The chocobo--still wet
from hatching so that its down was plastered to its body, making its
coloring indistinct as anything other than "pale"--was
struggling to its feet and trying to come after him. He stared at it,
slightly perplexed, as the little bird stumbled and then struggled
again to its feet, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"You can not come
with me, little one. There must be a herd of your kind close,"
he said, and turned.

"Peep! Peep!
Kwee! Kweeeeeeeeee!" it let out plaintively. He could hear
it struggling again. Baby chocobos got to their feet quickly, he
knew, but it still took them awhile, and without a mother and father
to protect it...

There were still
allemagnes around. They were on the edges of the forest around him,
close enough that he could smell them, and he knew they were waiting
for him to leave so they could finish their meal.

...It would be no
difficulty, to take it to Cloud. Cloud was good with chocobos; he
would know what to do with it and see it had a good home. If he left
it here, it was going to die, probably as soon as he was gone.

He had turned back
before he really realized he had done it. The chick was still
struggling, trying with all its might to get to him. As soon as he
was close enough, it latched out, grabbing his cloak with its beak,
making small, desperate chirping sounds.

It was very hard not to
react to something like that, and Vincent found the corners of his
lips quirking up. "Come on, then, little one," he said.

Baby chocobos were
tiny, really--not much larger than good-sized puppies. So it was an
easy thing, to pick it up. One of its claws tightened around his
shirt when he cradled it, and the bird nestled in against his chest
as his shroud swirled around them when he took to the air.

The bird nestled its
head against his chest, making a little peeping sound and then going
still.

Well. He'd take it to
Cloud. It was late now, so perhaps in the morning. For now, he would
take the chick with him to his camp, clean it off, and wait until the
morrow.

--

Vincent didn't sleep
very much--he had slept far more than enough--but he was surprised to
find himself awakened.

And not simply
awakened. Awakened by the baby chocobo--now that its down was
completely dry very obviously a white--pecking at him.

"Nn? What is it?"
Vincent said, blinking and trying to wake up, rubbing his eyes
tiredly.

"Waaaaaaarh!"
the chick let out again, its eyes wide and pleading.

"What's wrong?"
he said, frowning. The chick was making sounds like it was in pain,
sounds far larger than he would have imagined such a tiny chick
capable of. Had it been injured in the night? Had it hatched with
some kind of ailment?

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarhhh!"
it let out, sounding more plaintive and desperate, waving its wings.

After a good fifteen
minutes of trying to figure out what was wrong and why the thing was
crying like it was--he could see no injuries and there was no
place where it seemed to be in pain, but it did keep making that cry
and opening its mouth desperately whenever it saw the claw Hojo had
grafted onto him.

He finally did the only
thing he could think to do--pulled out his PHS and called the one
person he knew who would have a clue what to do.

Vincent had once heard
Tifa complain that trying to get a hold of Cloud on his PHS was about
as easy as trying to outrun a cactuar on a needle-spewing rampage.
Vincent himself had never really noticed this to be the case--if he
called Cloud, the man tended to pick up fairly promptly.

Probably, Vincent
thought, because he never willingly called anyone, and if he was
going to the trouble, some part of the planet was probably about to
explode.

Which was probably why
the PHS hadn't even rung two full times before Cloud answered with a
terse, "What's wrong?"

"A crying
chocobo."

There was a long, long
pause. "Um. What?"

"Pardon, I'm
jumping ahead of myself," Vincent said, feeling slightly frayed
as the chocobo continued to make loud, rending cries.

"Wait...wait, is
that a chocobo chick I hear in the background?" Cloud
said, managing to sound even more confused.

"Yes. I have
somehow ended up with one."

"You...a...a
chocobo chick?" Cloud said, sounding like he wasn't quite
believing what his ears were telling him. Admittedly, Vincent could
understand why. The chocobo made another harsh, warbling cry, poking
desperately at his metallic, clawed hand and waving its wings.

"The mother was
dead and it was trying to follow me. There were still monsters
around," Vincent said, and had no idea why he could feel his
face growing hot, as well as his voice growing mildly desperate. He
had no idea what to do with the crying chick, or even the first idea
why it was crying so desperately. "And it had just hatched."

"I see. Well, you
couldn't just leave it there, no. The monsters would have eaten it."

"Everything was
fine last night. But now it is making strange sounds and
pecking me. And it keeps opening its mouth at me, when it's not
pecking me, and flapping its wings. Is it sick? Hurt?"

"Opening
its...Vincent, has it had anything to eat?" Cloud asked
suddenly.

"Ah," Vincent
said, eyes going wide and feeling very foolish.

"Vincent, you have
to feed the baby chocobo," Cloud said, and Vincent had
the oddest impression that Cloud had just buried his face in his free
hand.

"Yes. Of course.
Thank you," he said, and hung up before Cloud could saying
anything else to make him feel stupider.

Right. That was it. It
had to eat. The chocobo was looking up at him with wide eyes, opening
its mouth desperately and making pathetic little noises. He got up
and the chocobo got up as well and started to follow him. "Stay
here," he said, gesturing downwards with his metallic hand,
since it had seemed to respond to it for some reason. "I'll go
get you some food," he finished and then felt foolish to be
talking to a bird. He did another "stay here" gesture. The
little chocobo stared at him, blinking, then toddled back over to
where they had been sleeping and hunkered down, its eyes bright and
pleading.

Right. It probably
thought that was their nest.

...Nest.

This whole situation
struck Vincent as supremely odd when he let himself think about it,
and so he decided not to. Instead he just said, "Right,"
and patted the little bird on the head. The little chocobo let out a
contented little trill, and its beak popped open hopefully, and he
shook his head, feeling guilty. "I'll get you food now. Stay
here," he said again, pointing at where the bird was sitting.

It was probably safe
enough. After all, whatever monsters might be attracted by the scent
of baby chocobo could probably smell him, him and the things
inside of him, and that would be enough to keep them away.

...Best to be quick,
though, he thought, and with a final pat, left in a swirl of red.

--

"It won't eat,"
Vincent said by way of greeting as soon as Cloud answered the phone.

"What do you
mean...what did you get to feed it?" Cloud said, and there was
the faint sound of him putting something down.

"Greens."

"Greens?"

"Greens."

There was a long
silence.

"You didn't buy
baby chocobo feed?"

Baby chocobo feed?
"There are no stores around here. So I got some greens from the
forest. And I have put the greens in front of it. And it won't eat."

He had the impression
once again that Cloud had just buried his face in his palm.
"Vincent," Cloud finally said. "It's a newly-hatched
baby. It can't eat the greens just yet. They can't eat greens
for another month or so. Until it can, usually the
mother...well...eats the greens and then vomits them up."

There was a long
silence before Vincent was able to speak.

"...I am not
throwing up greens for a bird, Cloud."

Cloud let out a strange
noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. "You don't have
to. If you can't get chick feed, just mash the greens up into a
paste, then add water to make it a little thinner than porridge. Heat
it to help break down for about ten minutes, then let it cool to
chocobo body temperature. Feed the chick by dribbling it into the
chick's mouth."

"Ah," Vincent
said, frowning slightly. He didn't have the tools for mashing
anything, and the chocobo was looking rather desperate. Still. A rock
or something would do for now. "Thank you."

"Sometimes chicks
that young don't know when to stop eating. If you overfeed it, it'll
throw up. So for now, use about a fourth of a green to make the feed.
In about a week, change over to half. Add a quarter of a green each
week, then it'll be about ready to start switching over to regular
greens in a month or so."

"Ah," Vincent
said, feeling a headache coming. He was about to ask if he could just
bring it to Cloud that day when Cloud started talking again.

"Sorry, I can't
really come out there now--I've got a big shipment to deliver this
week," he said, and sounded honestly regretful. "Call me,
though," Cloud said. "Right now, it's a little too young to
travel, but when it's bigger, you can bring it out here and I'll
figure out where to stable it. So good luck and don't kill it, OK?"

"Thank you,"
Vincent said, and hung up. All right. Mash the greens into chocobo
baby food mush. He could do this. Provided the chick's crying didn't
drive him insane.

Time to find a flat
rock and improvise, it seemed.

--

Eventually, Vincent
managed to shred and pound greens into a fine paste, and then heated
them until it seemed about like what Cloud had said. A
Blizzard cooled it off quickly, and he carefully fed it to the bird.
It was rather odd, he thought, blinking slightly, but the bird did
better eating from his metal claw than his fingers. Probably
closer to its mother's beak, he thought, as he let the thin gruel
dribble into the little chick's mouth. After what seemed a rather
long time, the bird turned its head away from the offered food, and
instead let out a sleepy cheep and burrowed itself under his arm, his
shroud draping around it like a wing and its belly so full he could
feel how round it had become.

"Ah," he
began in surprise, and got no further before it made a contented
little chirrup sound and started to fall asleep.

"--Ah," he
began again. It made the small little chirrup sound and burrowed its
head against him again, then with a little "whff" sound
settled into contented-seeming sleep. Realizing he wasn't going to be
able to go anywhere for a while, Vincent simply let his mind wander,
and when the sun rose, several hours later, Vincent realized that at
some point, he had rested his hand against the baby chocobo and had
been stroking its downy feathers, and in its sleep, the little thing
was making soft, contented cheeping sounds.

...Yes. As soon as
possible, he needed to give the bird to Cloud. The gods only knew
what might happen to it if it was around and the monsters inside him
came out. Best to get the chick away before he got used to having it
around anyway.

I'll take it to
Cloud, he thought, scratching lightly at the back of its head,
which made it make a trilling sound even in its sleep, and that
caused a tiny smile to touch his lips. Once it's a little bigger.

--

He was a little
surprised by his phone ringing the next afternoon. That morning, he
had gotten a large bowl and other supplies to use to make the chocobo
food. Which was good, because it seemed that it had to eat every few
hours. And then sleep. Then run around and chirp. Then poop. And then
eat and start the cycle all over again. "Yes?"

"It's Cloud."

"Ah."

"Um. You know you
need to groom it, right?"

"What?"

"You need to brush
its feathers. Especially because it's a baby. Their mothers preen
them a lot."

"Preen it."

"Yes."

"How am I supposed
to preen a chocobo?"

He could almost hear
Cloud's shrug. "Surely you at least have a hairbrush.
That'll do for now."

There was a long
silence.

"Just...just brush
the thing. When it starts looking like a big puffball," Cloud
finally said, and hung up.

--

The chocobo was in one
of its few phases where it was not sleeping, eating, or excreting. In
fact, the little chocobo was toddling around on its spindly little
legs, chasing a butterfly and chirping.

Vincent watched the
chick chasing after the butterfly, trying vainly to catch it. But the
butterfly was darting in directions faster than a chocobo chick could
move, especially a chocobo chick so young that its sense of balance
was still on the unsteady side.

But he figured it was
good for the chick; surely this was how they learned how to run and
balance, after all.

Plus, and he would
never want to admit this out loud, it was awfully cute to
watch.

"Not so close to
the edge, little one," Vincent said as the chick followed the
butterfly dangerously close to the edge of the stream. The bird, of
course, ignored him, and Vincent had just gotten to his feet to
retrieve the bird when the butterfly changed direction and the
chocobo tried to as well but couldn't quite manage it, and fell into
the stream with a loud splash.

It took barely an
instant to be at the stream bank, and less time to find the
terrified, thrashing chick and pull it out, and as soon as he had it
out and pulled against him, it wrapped a claw around his shirt and
buried its face against his chest, kwaa-ing in shrill, belated
terror.

"Shh, shh, it's
all right," Vincent found himself saying, stroking it to try and
get it to calm down. He also found that now, after he had the bird
safe, his heart had started pounding far too quickly and he wanted to
hug the little bird.

...And that he was, in
fact, actually hugging the bird.

He really needed
to take it to Cloud. Or set it free.

Once it was bigger.

He held the crying
chick against him, making small, "Shh" noises until it
calmed down and stopped trembling, and then he realized just how
sopping wet the two of them were. "Come on, let's dry you off,
little one," Vincent said, putting the bird down to gather
materials for a small fire, and giving the chick the "stay here"
gesture. The chick gave him a woebegone look at being put down, and
he was unable to keep a small smile off his face now, because the
poor chick looked hilariously pathetic; down plastered against its
tiny body and the absolute picture of abject misery. The bird huddled
down, dripping wet and looking as if life was horribly unfair, making
pathetic "kweeeeeh"s as it told the world how badly life
was going. He got a fire built quickly and had just began drying the
bird off when he realized that he had no idea just what gender the
thing was. And no idea how to tell.

Well. That could wait.
The bird was more or less dried off now, but all of its downy white
feathers were sticking up in different directions, making it look
like a little chocobo puffball.

A puffball.

...Right.

The idea of using his
hairbrush to brush the chocobo seemed, like most things had when it
came to the little chick, supremely odd. Besides. Chocobos didn't use
brushes. They used their beaks...Ah, he thought suddenly.
Well. He had something that could work. The gods all knew the chick
seemed to think the thing was a beak anyway.

He sighed and sat down,
pulling the chick onto his lap, then carefully raised his clawed hand
and began lightly using his fingers to brush through the chocobo's
down, so lightly the tips only barely grazed the chick at first.
Almost immediately, the little chick hunkered itself down and began
making contented little noises, leaning into his hand occasionally
when he found a good spot.

It was very hard when
the little bird looked so happy to not smile. He was a little
surprised to find himself chuckling slightly under his breath when he
stopped and the chick turned its big eyes on him, all but pouting,
and the way it made the happy "kweh!" sound when he started
scratching it again.

"Like that, do
you?" he said, and got a "Kweh!" in response, and the
chick turning to nuzzle at his hand before going back to contentedly
chirping, now starting to tug at and play with one of his buckles
with its beak. They stayed like that for a while, before the chick
suddenly pecked at his claw and let out its "I'm hungry!"
warble.

Vincent chuckled again.
"All right, little one. All right."

...he really did
need to find out if it was male or female. It kind of needed a
name. At this rate, it was going to start answering to "little
one," and considering how big chocobos got to be, that was going
to seem rather strange sooner rather than later.

--

"What it is?
What?" Cloud yelled over the sound of his motorcycle, sounding
completely thrown.

"I can not simply
keep calling it 'It'," Vincent said as he wiped the last bit of
mushed greens off his claw, watching as the little chocobo was trying
to figure out how to climb over a log. As soon as it had eaten,
instead of falling asleep as it normally did, the chick had warbled
and then taken off at a run, jumping and playing. "But I can't
give it a name without knowing a gender."

"Oh. Yes. Um,"
Cloud sighed. "Well, there are two ways to sex a chocobo. One
you're just not going to be able to do. Trust me. It involves
sticking things into the chocobo and...anyway. The other way is to
look at its claws. Does it have a little bump on the back of its
ankle? That's where adult males grow spurs during mating season. If
it's got a little bump, it's a male. No bump, and it's a female."

"I see. Hold on,"
Vincent said, and gestured with his metal hand. The little bird came
over instantly, with a happy bounce.

"Kweh?" it
said, nibbling at his metallic fingers. He tucked the phone against
his shoulder and cheek, and used his newly-freed hand to lift one of
the bird's feet. The bird let out a startled "Warrr!"
and threw out its wings to keep its balance, giving Vincent a
betrayed look.

"I don't think it
does," he said, and let its foot go, then patted the chick in
apology. The bird gave him another wounded look, so he scratched the
back of the chocobo's head. That caused it to make a happy trill,
settling down to be petted more.

"Then it's a
girl."

"Thank you,"
he said, continuing to scratch the chick. It--She--turned her
head and tugged on Vincent's sleeve before leaning more into his
fingers.

"Um, Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"Don't name
her Lucrecia," Cloud said.

"..."

"...Just sayin'."

"..."

"Just... Don't."

"..."

Vincent hung up.

--

Vincent had quickly
gotten used to the little chocobo sleeping next to him, a warm little
puffball of white covered by his shroud and tucked under his arm.
Since it was so close, it woke him at once when the chick sneezed.

At first, he wasn't
sure what the sound was coming from. He opened his eyes tiredly,
noting that it had to be the middle of the night. Luckily, there was
a full moon so he could see, but it was still far too late to be
awake.

That was when the
chocobo sneezed again.

He looked over at the
chick, completely perplexed, when she sneezed again. And her beak was
open. Not the "I'm hungry" open, but open like she was
breathing through it.

"Kweeeeeeeeeeeeeh,"
the little chick said, sounding pathetic. She laid her head on his
leg like it was too much effort to hold it up, then sneezed again.

At first, he went to
Cloud's voicemail. So he called again. And then once more. The fourth
time, Cloud answered the phone.

"What. Now.
Vincent?"

"The bird is
sneezing. Sneezing and not moving very much. What's wrong with her?
What am I supposed to do? Is this because she fell in a stream
yesterday?"

Cloud groaned.
"It's...four in the morning. This couldn't have
waited?"

The chocobo let out
another string of sneezes and then kwehed pitifully again, looking at
Vincent to make it all stop.

"No. She seems
very sick."

"Just sneezing?"

"And breathing
with her beak open. And listless."

"It's a cold."

"Chocobos catch
colds?" he said, the thought having never occurred to him.

"Yes," Cloud
said shortly. "Just keep her warm and make sure she eats."

"Are you sure it's
only a cold?"

"Is she puking?"

"No."

"Then it's a
cold."

"But she seems..."

"I'm hanging up
and going to sleep now, Vincent. Unless the bird starts throwing up
and falls down when it tries to walk, it's a cold."

"What happens if
it starts throwing up and falling?"

"Then it's...fuck
this," Cloud said, groaning. "Good night, Vincent."

"But--"

"Keep her
comfortable, warm, and fed, and she'll be OK in a few days. Good
night."

Cloud hung up and
Vincent stared at the phone, wondering what Cloud had refused to tell
him about chocobo illness. Well. It must be bad, whatever it was. For
now, he'd just watch her and see if it turned into whatever illness
Cloud had shied away from.

"Kweh," the
little chick thickly, trying to curl closer against him.

Keep her warm, Cloud
had said. Very well. She was still tiny, for all she was growing
quickly, and as he had the day before grooming her, he pulled her
onto his lap, wrapping his tattered cloak around her to help her stay
warm.

--

The next few days
Vincent watched the chick like a hawk, watching for any signs of her
getting worse. She hadn't wanted to eat, but what she did eat she
kept down, and while she didn't want to walk--she wanted to stay
curled up in Vincent's cloak and sleep--she managed it without
falling when she had to. Cloud, much more forgiving when it was
daytime, assured him that listlessness was normal and she'd be fine
in under a week. And true enough, a few days later the little bird
woke up with a loud "Kweeeeeeh!" and was running around
enough to make up for the three days of illness.

It was almost
startlingly easy for Vincent to settle into a pattern. He would wake
up in the mornings and make the greens-mush for the chick--and for
the life of him, he could not come up with a name--to eat, then the
chick would either sleep or run around (doing more of the latter than
the former as she got bigger), then he would feed her again and she'd
take another nap curled up under his shroud, ensuring he could do
nothing at all save nap himself or scratch the chick, then she'd wake
up and warble for food and he'd feed her again, then he'd watch the
chocobo playing or tugging at his buckles, then feeding again, then
groom the bird as twilight fell, and have the bird curl up under his
arm again to settle down for the night.

It was
oddly...relaxing. He was constantly amazed at how much trouble the
little chick got into--she was, like most chocobos, very inquisitive,
so she was always poking her head into things.

Vincent hadn't been
able to help laughing when she stuck her head into hole in a tree
stump and then couldn't get back out. He'd had to get her out and
then calm her down, and she had given him the betrayed looks she was
so good at for him having laughed in the first place.

She was more careful
around the stream, something he was grateful for.

It was, however,
something of a shock the day the chick decided that Vincent's hair
was in need of a bit of grooming. The chick snuck up behind him when
he was thinking about things that had been, and with a "Kweeeh!"
grabbed a beakful of his hair and started tugging at it. He jumped
slightly and was pecked for his trouble, then reached up and
scratched the chick's head, going back to staring off into space and
letting the chick do whatever she wanted to his hair. It's not like
anyone was to see it save the bird, he figured.

Besides. It felt kind
of...nice.

The whole situation, he
thought once again, was extremely odd. The chick was almost ready for
greens, though. Once she was, she would be Cloud's extremely odd
little problem.

She just had to get a
little bigger. On solid greens, maybe.

And he had no idea when
he had started scratching her again.

--

It was something of a
shock the day the bird came over when he was getting greens ready to
mash and nibbled at them.

She was big enough, he
realized, as she let out a happy little "Kweh!" and started
eating the greens, that he could take her to Cloud.

The thought made him
oddly...sad.

It was about time he
figured out what to do with her. She was old enough to go to Cloud,
or old enough to be set free. Both thoughts were strangely upsetting.

"Here, eat,"
he said, waving at the greens, then headed off to the "nest",
to sit and figure out what to do with her. He couldn't keep her,
obviously. He still had the demons literally inside him, and they
would have no qualms attacking a half-grown chocobo chick. Letting
her go...she was a white chocobo, meaning she stood out. And she was
still so little, surely some monsters would go after her. He could
try and find a herd of chocobo and let her go near them, perhaps...

A loud "Kweh!"
startled him. The little chocobo was standing in front of him, all
but bouncing from one foot to another, looking at him and then
looking at the forest, then looking back at him.

Vincent gestured with
his hand. "Go, if you've a mind to."

"Kweeeeh!"
the chocobo said, bouncing more and staring at him.

"I am content as I
am," he snapped, and felt unaccountably stupid as soon as he
realized he was talking to a bird. Again. And had been for almost a
month and a half straight.

Talking to a bird which
came over and butted her head against his, trying to nudge Vincent
up. Vincent ignored her--he had to figure out what to do, after all,
not take her out to play.

"WARK!"

He looked up in
surprise to see the little chocobo had let out a full-fledged "wark"
instead of her normal squeaks, chirps, warbles and kwehs...and not
only that, she had a look on her chocobo face, and if she had had
hands, there was no doubt she would have her hands on her hips.

He had the oddest
feeling that, in this case, "wark" translated into "Come
on already."

That was when the bird
started pecking him.

"Kweh!" Peck.
"Kweh kweh!" Peck. "WARK!" Peck peck
peck.

"All right!"
he finally said, narrowing his eyes. "Now what is it that..."

"Kweeeeh!"
the little chocobo let out, bouncing again. Then she grabbed his
shroud in her beak and pulled.

He pulled the cloak
back, feeling put-upon. Really, the little beast was too much. He had
given up over a month and a half of his life to care for it, and here
she was, growing and eating solid greens and--

It was time to take her
to Cloud.

He pulled out the PHS,
and the chocobo made an annoyed sound, having learned the phone meant
she had to be quiet and wait. So she sat down, glaring at him.

"...She's getting
cranky," Vincent said, not able to think of another word.
"Jumping around and tugging on my clothes trying to move me
and--"

"Vincent,"
Cloud said, abruptly cutting him off. "She's a chocobo, not a
rock. Chocobos want to run. You can't just sit there and
expect her to be happy."

"Well, she's free
to go at any time," Vincent said, feeling put out. She had used
to have no problems just sitting there. "Maybe I'll just let her
go free. I shouldn't keep her because with what I am, it's dangerous
for her. And besides, she is hardly my res--"

"You have a
responsibility for what you pick up," Cloud said, cutting him
off again. "You picked her up; you can't just toss her away. In
her mind, you're her mother. The gods know you act like you
are. For the last month and a fucking half you have called me
whenever that bird so much as warks funny, and--"

"She only just
started warking today," Vincent said defensively.

There was a long, long
silence.

"Oh, for
the...that's it. Vincent. You have a pet chocobo. Just accept
it, give her a name that is not Lucrecia already, stop
angsting and brooding and fretting, and play with your damn
chocobo chick," Cloud finished in clear irritation.

The next sounds were
those of Cloud hanging up and the line going dead.

There was something,
Vincent thought as the chocobo danced around him, nudging him trying
to make him get up and warking insistently, very deeply wrong with
Cloud of all people telling someone to stop angsting.

A pet chocobo. There
was no reason he should keep her. None. But--

She nudged him with her
head again, blue eyes bright. "Kweh!"

She was still a baby.
He could figure out what to do with her later.

"All right, little
one," he finally said, rising to his feet. "If it is a race
that you want, a race you get," he said, and, with a tiny grin,
vanished into red mist. He reappeared three feet away, behind the
chocobo, and reached out to tug on her tail. She made a startled
"Kwaaa!" sound, jumped and whirled, and then with a
"Waaaark!" tried to grab him. He vanished again in a swirl
of red shroud, reappearing just a few feet away.

And then, with a happy
"Wark!", the chase was on.

--

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